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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339464">even despite the olives</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartimelovers/pseuds/wartimelovers'>wartimelovers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(bit of tonal whiplash but nothing fatal. they're just silly and worth one another), (i will glorify and romanticise research era. to the moon and back.), (just a bit. there is resolution and your teeth will still fall out), (pining silly in love tim has become my fav thing to write can you tell?), Bad Jokes, Discussion of Childhood, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:14:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartimelovers/pseuds/wartimelovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny, that, he thinks as he switches the neon sign off. Jon has pyjamas here – not his, well, they used to be Tim’s, but Jon always wears them when he accidentally stays over; they’re coded as Jon’s in Tim’s head now, anyway, so he never reaches for them to wear. Well, almost never. Jon also has a toothbrush here. And Tim buys the expensive shampoo he likes. Always has his favourite cheese in the fridge. He sometimes wants to joke about him moving in already, all this stuff considered, but he worries Jon might take it the wrong way. </p>
<p>or: Jon and Tim are incapable of talking about their emotions unless there is a big confession involved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>even despite the olives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi everyone! whats this, you ask? well i had an idea and actually sat down and just wrote it. insane. anyway. hope you enjoy this soft and sweet jontim for the soul......</p>
<p>also me not using a song lyrics as a title? double insane.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s late when they stumble into Tim’s apartment. Jon’s hanging off his arm like it’s the 1950s and he’s a sweet little tipsy girl Tim kindly offered to take home. Like the gentleman he is. Only they’re coming back from the birthday party of one of the girls in their research group, Sarah. The party Jon was so adamant about skipping. Not a party person, he had said, voice stern, not his kind of scene. Took Tim longer than usual to get him to quit sulking around, put on his favourite skirt and go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, the most unbelievable thing happened. Jon relaxed. Not at first, no, that took some doing. But if usually he’d just kind of follow Tim around, nursing his cocktail, sometimes just flat out give up and sit in the corner, this time he engaged, smiled, told jokes, even. His timing wasn’t perfect, but Tim reckoned they could work on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should’ve been happy. He should’ve been so damn glad Jon was coming out of his shell. It’s not like he was Tim’s project, like he was trying to save him from himself or anything. Tim liked him no matter what. And Jon wasn’t ever mean to him or anything. He just… Tim guessed he just wished everyone liked him. That everyone could see what a great person he was, underneath the mean, icy exterior. But maybe that was more of his personal issue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should’ve been happy and yet it left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was funny and refreshing, yes, watching Jon play ‘Never Have I Ever’, but not as funny as the reactions his confessions got out of their colleagues. He smiled into his glass when Jon took a sip after Harry mentioned LSD; he knew, of course, they got really high one time at Tim’s flat and talked about their experiences. As funny as it was to see them all choke on their drinks, he wished Jon refused to engage. That it all could have remained just theirs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Tim thinks, Jon comes home with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not precisely in the sense Tim would like, but he takes anything he can get, these days. He’s still not sure where Jon stands on this, when it comes to </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Most days it feels like he’s accepted his fate, the fate of being Tim’s friend, for better or for worse, and that he doesn’t mind it. Likes it, in fact. He laughs at the jokes and leans conspiratorially over their paperwork to whisper the dirtiest office gossip Tim has heard all week. He shows up at Tim’s place and pretends he was just in the neighbourhood. He still tells him things that Tim doesn’t think he’d mention at a party, no matter how drunk he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head slightly. This isn’t time for thoughts like that. If he wasn’t holding Jon up, he’d surely be on the ground, the poor lightweight, so the main mission right now is to get him to the couch in one piece. Then find some pyjamas for him to wear. Then he can beat himself up in the shower if he so pleases. But only once Jon is safe and sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he makes it seem dramatic, it’s because it is. He tries to close the door with his hip and Jon wobbles, stumbles forward, making Tim drop their bags and hold him up. Jon, in a very unhelpful, very distinctly his way, raises his hand up and curls his fingers around Tim’s, keeping their hands pressed to the centre of his chest. Tim wishes there was someone to steady him as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim lets him hold his hand, then, and Jon seems to cooperate better after that. Together they stumble into the living room and he sits Jon down gently. Briefly, he thinks about kneeling down to get his shoes off but reckons he should get his pyjamas first. So he sets off for the bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Funny, that, he thinks as he switches the neon sign off. Jon has pyjamas here – not his own, well, they used to be Tim’s, but Jon always wears them when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>accidentally </span>
  </em>
  <span>stays over; they’re coded as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Tim’s head now, anyway, so he never reaches for them to wear. Well, almost never. Jon also has a toothbrush here. And Tim buys the expensive shampoo he likes. Always has his favourite cheese in the fridge. He sometimes wants to joke about him moving in already, all this stuff considered, but he worries Jon might take it the wrong way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He retrieves the well-worn and well-loved purple shirt and some warm sweatpants from the depths of his drawer and heads back to the living room. He opens his mouth to say something, not sure what, really, just another snarky comment Jon won’t fully register in his state. He finds Jon curled up on the couch, arm tucked under his head, knees up almost to his chin. It’s a cliché, really, but he looks so small and fragile when he’s asleep. Finally peaceful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim sets the clothes down on the other end of the couch and gently reaches to take off Jon’s glasses. Jon doesn’t even as much as stir when they come off. It has been a long week; Tim will give him that. He’s already thinking about cooking his favourite for breakfast in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crouches near the couch, thinking of the best way to approach the situation. He won’t let Jon sleep on the couch, that’s for sure. His back is bad enough as it is. Jon is shorter and smaller than him, doesn’t look like he weighs more than a pillow, really, so this shouldn’t be too hard. Tim reaches out, gently putting his arms underneath Jon’s legs and back, and then he lifts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s a lightweight, but he’s decidedly not a light sleeper. Where construction work outside has Tim up and about at ungodly hours of the morning, Jon will sleep soundly through it all, woken up only by a gentle touch to his shoulder, just when breakfast is ready. Tim wonders sometimes if he’s pretending to be asleep so he doesn’t have to help, but that wouldn’t really be his style.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So imagine Tim’s surprise when Jon startles with a gasp and pushes at him, uncoordinated and awkward, when he’s already up in his embrace, not even a step from the couch. Tim tumbles backwards, Jon wriggles some more, and that sends them both down to the floor. Jon’s lucky, since his collision with the ground is softened by Tim’s body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the original shock is gone, Tim sits up, rubbing at his back, his elbows, not to even mention his arse. He wants to ask what the fuck was that all about, but Jon beats him to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you doing?” Jon almost yells. Tim can feel his face grow hot, like he’s crossed a boundary, but he honestly doesn’t see how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was going to carry you to the bed!” he almost yells back. He’s not upset, just shocked. Worried if maybe he wasn’t careful enough, thoughtful enough, didn’t listen properly. If all he had and treasured was now gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why! Why would you do that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, Jon, I don’t know!” Maybe he’s a little annoyed. Just a smidge. Jon and his damn individualism. “You were tired and tipsy, alright? I didn’t want to wake you. Besides, what’s the fuss about? I’d be thrilled if someone carried me. Hell, I pretended to be asleep in the car far longer than it was reasonable, I mean, who’s gonna carry a seven-year-old and let me tell you I was a big child—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jon sounds genuinely confused, and he looks it, too. That stops Tim dead in his tracks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, uh,” he begins, unsure, “you know how when you were little, your parents would carry you to your bed if you fell asleep in the car?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon considers his answer, which he never does unless he’s considering whether to lie or not. A shadow that Tim cannot really name crosses his face and then his features harden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon?” Tim asks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell the truth, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is what he wants to say, but doesn’t think it would be well received.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I know what’s that like, no,” Jon says eventually. His voice is anything but soft, verging on the invitation to a fight, the tone which clearly outlines pity won’t be accepted. “My parents, they, uh. They died when I was very little. Don’t say you’re sorry, I hardly knew them. I don’t… remember. My grandma raised me, and she wasn’t the type of person to carry anyone from the car to their bed, no matter if they were sleeping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sor—” Tim starts, but cuts himself off under the intensity of Jon’s gaze. “That’s—God, Jon, I didn’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts, what Jon said, and it makes him feel silly. Jon doesn’t have to disclose anything about his past, but Tim’s told him about Danny—Well. At least about his disappearance. Left out a supernatural factor or two. But he told him. And Jon consoled him. That’s what friends do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t. That’s okay, I suppose,” Jon says. It’s funny: they’re still on the floor, limbs tangled together, Jon almost in Tim’s lap, but he looks away. “I don’t like people knowing. I don’t like their assumptions. I don’t like the pity, either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to assume any—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you already did! It’s in your head! A neat little explanation, the last missing piece of the puzzle,” he snorts. “Jon’s the way he is because he’s a poor little orphan!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was never going to say—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? What were you going to say, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim knows he’s hurting. He knows, or he suspects, that he’s had this outburst before, motivated by thousands of belittling comments, side glances and annoyed sighs directed towards him. He wishes he could be further apart from Jon; knows he couldn’t possibly be close enough at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll find out when you let me finish a goddamn sentence, Jon,” he finally spits out. It’s way too harsh, harsher than he’s ever been, but he’s in love with this fool and it gets tiring at times. “God, sorry. I didn’t mean to—Right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to see me in a different way, Tim, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, okay, I get that. But that’s all it took, you know? Telling me this. Do I fucking wish your childhood was carefree and beautiful and left you with fond memories only? You bet. But that doesn’t exist. No one gets that. And, whether you like it or not, you are a product of your past, Jon. It affects you. It matters. I know there must be an unpleasant story behind your outburst, and I’ll listen to you, if you ever wanna tell it. And I promise to do my best not to judge. But, God, you can’t hide forever from people who want to help you. If you haven’t noticed, you can’t scare me away. I seek you out, for better or for worse! It’s just fucking difficult at times, you know, trying to be there for someone you l—</span>
  <em>
    <span>care about</span>
  </em>
  <span> if they don’t let you in!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s almost out of breath by the end of it. Jon is staring at him, eyes huge like saucers. Then he looks away, slightly to the right of Tim’s head, just as he begins to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tim, I—hold on.” He sounds confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Tim feels as if his heart came all the way up to his throat, beating wildly like a caged bird. He did almost say it and Jon’s not stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a half-empty jar of olives on your coffee table?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What—I mean, yes? What’s that got to do with any—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you eat olives straight out of the jar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a good snack, Jon, I’m sorry if—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Olives are disgusting. And so are you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks, always good to hear food opinions from Mr. ‘I-Toast-My-Bread-For-Thirty-Seconds.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Jon cuts him off before he can go on with the list. “Like, in a gay, romantic way. Even despite the olives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been a long while since Tim found himself in a situation where he absolutely didn’t know how to respond to someone. He just sits there, staring. Jon smiles softly. The only thing Tim thinks about is that he must be awfully proud of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your timing, as always, is absolutely terrible,” he manages after a while of heavy, electrifying silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or should I say bisexual way? I mean, we are after all—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—two bisexual kings just working it out, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, fifty percent bi-ace, I will not have you forget.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I remember.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim snorts out a faint laugh, disbelieving, and looks up at Jon, where he’s still in his lap, shifting a little, as if trying to get closer. His face is open, not a worry line in sight, and his smile is gentle, welcoming. Tim still can’t believe he said it. Or, more importantly, how he said it. He’s never going to let him live it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t believe you love someone who likes olives. Loser,” he says, then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon smacks him on the arm. “Shut up. You love me, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I say it, though?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were going to!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you know me so well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Jon giggles. Then his face softens, his gaze fixed, and Tim doesn’t feel like laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts, leaning closer in, his hand finding its way to Jon’s cheek. Jon leans into the touch like a cat, his eyes fluttering shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, voice softer, quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t want to ruin anything between us,” Tim replies. “Didn’t wanna risk it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re silly, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh and you were going to—” Tim tries to say but is promptly cut off by Jon leaning in, closing the distance between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon kisses with his whole body, his whole being, even, Tim soon finds out. He presses in closer, urgent and needy, his body flush against Tim’s chest, hands squeezing at his shoulders. He takes one away to hike his skirt up and readjust himself on Tim’s lap better that way and it takes all of Tim’s strength not to moan desperately against his mouth just yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They break away for air sooner than they’d wish for. Jon rests his forehead against Tim’s, quick exhales mixing together. Tim can see him smile as he opens his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really have to stop interrupting me,” he says, willing his voice to sound annoyed, just for the dramatic effect. He feels anything but annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You love it.” Comes back the reply. The smirk would be evident even if Tim didn’t see it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. But I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expects Jon to have a snarky reply ready. Instead he just sighs, shuffles impossibly closer, lifts Tim’s arms to wrap them around his small frame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he whispers into his skin. Seals the confession with a gentle kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Don’t intend to stop saying it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a second, taking it all in. Tim considers his next move, literally speaking. He shifts under Jon’s body, trying to feel where he might even begin. It feels like they’ve melted together in the short time on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Jon whispers lazily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” Tim answers. He hasn’t felt this happy in a long while. “It’s just—Everyone deserves to be carried to bed. So, come on up, we’ve got some catching up to do, my love.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading! </p>
<p>as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x </p>
<p>come find me on tumblr (hotjonrights)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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